


A Cup Of Tea With A Friend

by swordznsorcery



Category: Agatha Christie's Poirot (TV), Doctor Who
Genre: Gen, Tea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-13
Updated: 2016-06-13
Packaged: 2018-07-14 20:02:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7188116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swordznsorcery/pseuds/swordznsorcery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fandom Stocking fic. Poirot and Hastings enjoy a respite from dastardly murderings, whilst sharing a pot of tea and some scones in a London tea shop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Cup Of Tea With A Friend

A Cup Of Tea With A Friend

 

"I say, these really are frightfully good scones," said Hastings, as he dipped his knife into a little cake of butter. Sitting opposite, Poirot nodded with a brisk enthusiasm. 

" _Oui, mon ami_. The best in London. Nowhere is there a finer place to take your English tea." He dabbed delicately at his lips with his napkin. "And such a good place to watch the world go by, _non_?" 

"Ah. I knew there had to be a reason why we came here." Smiling at his friend's fondness for espionage, Hastings took a quick look about the room, before lowering his voice to a theatrical whisper. "Who's our man? I can't see any desperate-looking types, but I suppose one can never be sure." 

"You misunderstand me, _mon ami_. We are not here to observe a suspect; merely to observe humanity. An exercise, if you will." 

"A game!" Hastings brightened. "Very well then. How do we play?" 

"It is not play, my dear Hastings, it is practice. Something that one of us at least is in need of, yes? You choose somebody, one of our fellow patrons, and you observe. Note the little details that can tell us so much. This is the way that we can learn who a person truly is." 

"Hmm. I don't know about that, old man. It sounds a bit... underhand." Hastings took a quick, guilty look around the teashop, as though expecting at any moment to be unmasked as a peeping tom. Poirot laughed gently at his discomfort. 

"Oh, Hastings. Always you are the proper gentleman. But there is no need for this to offend your delicate English sensibilities. _Non_. You need only to look. I am not suggesting that you pry into houses, or read secret diaries. Merely we are looking at those things that are already on display." 

"Well, when you put it like that, I suppose it doesn't sound quite so bad." Obligingly, Hastings glanced around. The little teashop was about half full, the hour still being too early for the usual tea-time crowds. "All right. The table over there by the door. I deduce that that is a businessman with his wife. Ex-army of course. You can tell by the tie." 

"No, no, _mon cher_." Poirot's little smile was at once both fond and condescending, something with which Hastings was not at all unfamiliar. "You look at surfaces only. You see, this is why I tell you that you need the practice, yes? In our business, it is not enough only to see the obvious. We must also be able to see that which others do not so easily notice. Observe." He looked around as well, before settling at last upon a table at the far side of the room, away from both door and window. There was a young couple seated there, very much wrapped up in conversation. "Ah yes. I notice several things immediately about our young friends over there. Can you tell me what these things are?" 

"Oh. Well." Hastings frowned, sipping thoughtfully from his teacup as he did so. "Their clothes are a little odd, I suppose, although that's the modern age for you. I should think that the young lady is European, with that odd sort of bodice." He lowered his voice, a certain fascination in his tone. "And she's wearing _trousers_. And he's obviously a sportsman, but beyond that..." 

"My dear Hastings, sometimes you are, as you English so delicately put it, the very death of me. Did I not tell you that you must look not at the obvious, but at that which others may not see? Consider. Yes, their clothing is a little unusual perhaps, and you may be right that the lady is not from England. Her English is faultless, however. And yet, there are many things that seem strange to her. Observe her delight at the little cakes and other delicacies on offer. Even the English scone seems strange to her. She has then the excellent spoken English, without having ever spent much time upon these shores, yes?" 

"Gosh." Hastings was impressed, and it showed in the widening of his eyes. Poirot smiled at him, a teacher giving a display of grace to a favoured pupil. 

"Observe also how she carries herself. She is a woman of noble bearing, my good Hastings." 

"English aristocracy raised abroad, you think?" 

"It is possible, yes. Or European aristocracy perhaps. To speak the English is considered _très important_ in the modern times. But I do not think so. It is not as though the delicacies served here are so very entirely English. No, I think that she must be from somewhere much further afield." 

"India, then? Or Australia?" Hastings frowned. "No, not Australia. The accent is all wrong." 

"An accent is not necessarily an indication. It very much depends upon the upbringing. But she is a puzzle, nonetheless, _non_?" 

"Mm. And a beautiful one." Hastings was deep into the game now, his earlier discomfort forgotten. "Go on then. What else do you see?" 

"Well, next we consider the young man. He also speaks the perfect English, and his clothing is very English indeed. Except perhaps not." 

"It can only be one thing or the other, old man." 

"Ah, _mais non_ , Hastings. An object can very much be two things at once. For instance, the clothing marks him as a cricketer, yes? That very English past-time. And yet the outfit is so very dated. He is like a man set down in the wrong age. Consider also his lapel." 

"Yes, I did wonder at that. It's a curious sort of flower to wear in one's buttonhole." 

"That is because it is not a flower at all, _mon ami_. Look a little more carefully. It is in fact a piece of celery. Very curious, _non_? So we have a man who is perhaps trying to dress like an Englishman, and yet in certain small details he fails completely." 

"I say." Hastings's eyes widened considerably. "You don't think he could be a spy?" 

"No, no. As always you jump too much to conclusions. No, they are not spies. A spy has many things on his mind. He must fit in. He must observe. He must not be too observed. These two think only of each other. That is another thing that I notice. They care so very deeply for each other these two, and yet they do not act upon it. Their body language suggests that they keep each other at arm's length. A spy has not the luxury of such depth to his relationship with his comrade." 

"Well that's a relief. I should hate to have to tackle a spy in this place. We might never be allowed back." Hastings looked over at the young couple again. "Still, I suppose if they're trying to keep some distance, it's not really so strange. He is a bit older than her." 

"A little, yes, but not so very much. I think he is not yet thirty, and she is no more than ten years younger. Perhaps not quite that much. No, there is something more that keeps them apart. You see, Hastings, how the lives of our neighbours can stir the little grey cells?" 

"Yes, I do. I think it's all positively fascinating." Hastings smiled in admiration. "You're remarkable, Poirot. I had no idea that a visit to a teashop could be so interesting." 

"Precisely, my friend. This is because you English, you never look beyond the teacup. In our line of work, one must always watch, and see what one can see. This is the way to unmask the fiendish criminal, yes?" 

"Yes." Hastings heaved a sigh. "I'm afraid that I shall never be able to match up to you, though." 

"You cannot be Poirot, _mon ami_ , but you can be more aware." The little detective beamed affectionately at his old friend. "And now we must be on our way, _non_? There will be the afternoon post to see to, and I am expecting a man who wishes to sell me some bees." 

"Yes, of course." Hastings frowned. "I'm sorry, old man. Did you just say 'bees'?" 

" _Oui_. Lately I have the notion of keeping a hive. It is a fascinating past-time, and one with quite the distinguished history, you know. Come, you must hear this gentleman talk on the subject." 

"If you say so!" Calling over the waitress to settle the bill, Hastings picked up his hat and, as a passing gesture, raised it to the young, foreign lady at the far table. She frowned slightly, apparently none too familiar with the gesture, then smiled in a way that quite gladdened his heart. Definitely not a spy, then. No spy could possibly be so delightful. 

Back at the table, the Doctor looked up at Nyssa's frown, seeing a tall man approaching middle age striding purposefully out of the shop. He seemed normal enough, from his grey flannel suit to the very proper hat in his hand. The Time Lord raised his eyebrows in query, and she shrugged. 

"Oh, it's quite all right, Doctor. Nothing sinister. It's just that the local customs catch me by surprise sometimes, that's all. I've seen you raise your hat before, and that always seems odd enough, but he just did the same thing with a hat that he wasn't even wearing." 

"Ah, yes. It's the gesture, you see. A token. Very typical of the age. This is a time when manners are still quite formalised, and a gentleman is expected to behave a certain way, especially to a lady." The Doctor smiled, taking a sip of the exceptionally good tea. "In some ways it's quite charming. I admit that it can soon come to grate a bit though." 

"I imagine it's a lot worse for the women," said Nyssa, with considerable insight. The Doctor nodded. 

"Undoubtedly. Hardly the most enlightened of times, and certainly these formalised manners do tend to put women on something of a pedestal. Things are changing, though. Events in Europe are looming, and everything will change then." He looked a little sad, the way that he so often did when he knew too much about a particular place and time; then stirred himself, as though determined not to darken the mood. "Still, the tea is excellent, isn't it, and these scones are particularly good. Every era has its pros and cons." 

"It's a very nice place to while away an afternoon, certainly." She smiled suddenly. "And have you noticed, Doctor? We've been on Earth for nearly six hours, and nobody has shot at us yet." 

"Yes, I know." His own expression was slightly uncomfortable. "It's almost disconcerting." 

"Well I find it very reassuring. We should do this more often. Just go somewhere where nothing much happens, and visit museums and libraries. Drink tea, and eat these scone things. They really are wonderful. There was nothing like them on Traken." 

"You should try them in Devon or Cornwall," said the Doctor. "They serve them a little differently there." 

"Perhaps we can go there next?" asked Nyssa. He smiled. 

"Perhaps. It's probably up to the TARDIS. You might have to wait until Devon gets invaded by Daleks, and we find our way down there then." 

"The TARDIS brought us here. Maybe it thinks we deserve a holiday." 

"Maybe." He finished his tea, and looked over at the clock on the wall. "You know, if we're going to do the Natural History Museum justice..." 

"Yes, of course." She finished her own tea, watching with the interest of an outsider observing local custom as the Doctor called over a waitress to pay. For once he had managed to come equipped with the right currency. He didn't always. She had never understood why Tegan had found that so irritating. It was simply one of his many little quirks. 

"So, the Natural History Museum then?" she asked, as they headed towards the door. He nodded, a burst of enthusiasm making him seem so very much younger than his thousand-odd years. Making him seem, briefly, almost the same age as her. Almost, but not quite, within reach. 

"I think you'll find it very enjoyable," he told her as he stood aside to let her pass through the door. "They haven't quite got all of the details worked out yet of course, but they're getting there." 

"Oh, I don't mind that. It all adds to the atmosphere." They wandered out into the afternoon sunshine, and began to stroll together along the pavement. It was far too nice a day to take a taxi. Nyssa didn't think she would mind how long the walk was. The day was fine, the company perfect, and there was not a terrifying monster in sight. This was just the sort of thing to which she could easily become accustomed. It was also, as she very well knew, a hint of a life that she would never be able to live.

 

The End


End file.
